BikeWalkBakeBarb: balance

Showing posts with label balance. Show all posts

Slow Down

On grateful.org they pose a question a day in a community space. One that I thought about from multiple angles: "Where, or when, could I create a bit of space to truly slow down?"

"Truly slowing down" may or may not be a desirable goal. I can read this question multiple ways.

Slow down: Don't be so hard on yourself for not getting 5,247 things done every day.

I've gotten much better at that with age. Even if I had an empty in-box when I stop working tonight, more would show up tomorrow. There is no "done", there is doing and being.

Slow down: Don't try to multitask.

My brain works well when I have many plates spinning and I enjoy that feeling of being able to shift from one topic to the next to the next (which is what's really happening when people say they're multitasking; we're actually processing in serial, not parallel). Each serves to cross-fertilize with the others. But they need time for that fertilization process.

Slow down: Don't over-commit or sign up for things you don't really want to do.

OK, yes, I could work on this a bit and say "enough" when my plate is as full as I want it to be. When I do that I feel both guilt and relief. I remind myself the answer isn't just "no" to this, it's "yes" to something else.

Slow down: Giving your best doesn't require giving your everything.

In my younger years I sometimes burned the candle at both ends and from the middle and loved the intensity even if it wore me out at times. As a result of that investment (and recognizing that I have privilege that contributed as well) I’ve been able to build a career that means I don’t have to run at quite the same pace but I still feel the intensity and commitment.

Slow down: Don't work all the time.

I'm very good at having real weekends. I read, I go for a long walk with my sweet husband to downtown, we might decide to go out for lunch, I might do a big cooking extravaganza, which is one of my favorite activities. Ditto for real evenings; when I sign off at the end of the workday I'm off and I ask my staff to do the same.

Slow down: Pay attention.

I've had mindfulness practices in one form or another for years now. All of them embed some form of "pay attention". I can take a brisk walk for the health benefits of active movement and pay attention to the shapes and colors of fall leaves, the flash of white on a dove's back as it takes flight to join the whole flock of them that likes to roost in a tall pine tree I can see out my kitchen window, the sound of the frog that croaks somewhere in a neighbor's yard, the colors of the flowers my neighbor at the corner carefully selects so we have beauty all season long, the two-tone whistle of a bird I have yet to identify.

I can talk with my sweetheart or my daughters and make sure I'm really paying attention, not listening with half an ear while I work on something else.

I can savor and appreciate the flavors of foods I'm eating or the aroma of something I'm cooking.

Slow down: Remember to breathe.

On my desk I keep a rock I found on one of my walks. It has three sides visible when it sits on its flat bottom side. On each of these I've written one word: Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Some days when I feel as if I haven't really done that, I pick it up and hold it for a couple of full, slow breaths.

Slow down: Make room for slow.

Related reading

It Beats the Alternative: Poems on Growing Older

I was less conscious of my age and the aging process when I was younger. Now when I stand up I may utter a little "oof", and my ankles make a lot of crackling sounds. (Pro tip: Stand up from your sofa or chair without using your arms to push yourself up. You'll be using, and thus helping to maintain, more of your body's strength. Same goes for getting up from the toilet, for that matter.)

My parents lived into their 90s. One of my grandfathers lived to be 95; my grandmothers lived into their 80s. I feel as if I come from a long-lived line and I've had better nutrition and health care than any of them, so it's not that I'm peering into the grave. But I find that some poems resonate for me now that I imagine I wouldn't have found as relevant at 30 or 40. Some poetry can't be written until you've arrived at that place—maybe all of it!

Most of these are specific to aging as a woman. US society, with its worship of the taut, the slender, the unattainable, begins to ignore older women unless they're famous enough to rate the cover of AARP's magazine. While freedom from the male gaze brings its own kind of relief, ageism, sexism, ableism, and all the other -isms can make for a foul brew. When someone tries to pour that into my cup, I decline. I am just as much me, myself and I at every age that lies ahead as I was in the years behind me. I have become who I am walking a path I'm still on.

For the most part these poems celebrate, rather than mourn, the passing of the years. I'm sharing a few lines from each to invite you to explore them in full.

"At Fifty I Am Startled to Find I Am in My Splendor"
Sandra Cisneros

Not old.
Correction, aged.
Passé? I am but vintage.

"A Face, A Cup"
Molly Peacock

A break-up,
a mix-up, a wild mistake: these show in a face
like the hairline cracks in an ancient cup.

"At the Moment"
Joyce Sutphen

I thought about the way we’d aged,

how skin fell into wrinkles, how eyes grew
dim; then (of course) my love, I thought of you.

"Days I Delighted in Everything"
Hilda Raz

because surely there was a passage of life where I thought
“These days I delight in everything,” right there in the
present, because they almost all feel like that now,
memory having markered only the outline while evaporating
the inner anxieties of earlier times.

"Senior Discount"
Ali Liebegott

I want to grow old with you.
Old, old.

So old we pad through the supermarket
using the shopping cart as a cane that steadies us.

"Here"
Grace Paley

Here I am in the garden laughing
an old woman with heavy breasts
and a nicely mapped face

how did this happen
well that's who I wanted to be

"Doing Water Aerobics in the Senior Living Community with Janie Bird"
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

frisky as ducklings, tender as saplings
inside old trunks, joyful
as old women who remember
how good it feels to be buoyant
as geese, resilient as ourselves.

"Hear the Water's Music"
Tere Sievers

There is only one way, aging beauties,
to go down this river,
to hear the water's music over the rocks,

"Midlife"
Julie Cadwallader-Staub

to see
a bend in the river up ahead
and still
say
yes.

"Turning 70"
David Allan Evans

...with my eyes
fiercely wide open, each day seconding Prospero’s
“be cheerful, sir,” and Lao Tzu’s tree bending
in the wind,

"Starfish"
Eleanor Lerman

This is what life does. It lets you walk up to
the store to buy breakfast and the paper, on a
stiff knee.

"We Are a River"
William Martin, based on Lao Tzu

Don't accept the modern myths of aging.
You are not declining.
You are not fading away into uselessness.
You are a sage,
a river at its deepest
and most nourishing.

"Still Learning"
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

It doesn’t occur to me
to tell her about what will happen.
I flit by as she stays on the wall.
She’ll learn soon enough.

Walking in March: Of Woods and Work

My February walk in the rain forest at Lake Quinault involved soaring trees, mosses, quiet trails, and the sound of water. And guess what—I have all those within a 15-minute walk from my front door.

Photo looking up through a circle of tall evergreens at blue sky overhead

Well, technically not the rain forest label. But we're fortunate to have found a house very near Squaxin Park, which offers up over 300 acres of woods, a mile of shoreline, and trails that wind through and connect to offer any number of ways to wander.

Back up over two years ago to when we still lived in Seattle, in a corner of the Top Hat neighborhood with no sidewalks, no big natural park within an easy walking distance.

When the pandemic struck the state of Washington before any other state, our governor and the state agency I work for responded swiftly. In my journal I noted March 10, 2020, as the first day of 100% working from home.

In those early days as we pivoted to the online work world we needed to figure out ways to stay connected and stay up to date on the unfolding emergency. Our leadership instituted a weekly call for senior managers. Each call ended with encouragement to make sure we were taking care of ourselves and our coworkers while we continued to serve the people of Washington under enormous strains and shifts. The call often ended with the words, "Be kind. Be kind to yourself, be kind to others."

One of the ways I found to do this was to make that particular meeting a walking meeting. Now, usually a walking meeting involves walking and talking with other people. I had those other people with me via the headset I wore as I walked laps around the outside of our house, carrying my phone so it could count my steps.

This got me moving if I'd been sitting or standing too long in one place, staring at the screen and typing typing typing. It also made me a much better meeting participant. Why? Because while I was walking and listening I was only walking and listening. I wasn't reading and answering email with half an ear attuned to the meeting. I wasn't trying to multitask, which isn't even a real capability of the human brain. I was being kind to myself.

[Side note on my various forms of privilege that show up in this story, including my ability to buy these homes: I fully recognized then and know that my ability to stay home, warm, fed, and powered relied on the work of thousands of people who kept going into workplaces, being exposed to a virus we didn't understand for which we had no vaccine, and dying at higher rates than those of in these white-collar desk jobs. It still does, they still are, they still do, and I don't forget that.]

Just over three years later teleworking is still my daily reality. Our agency goal is to maintain a high percentage of teleworking so those of us whose jobs lend themselves to that format continue to reduce those vehicle miles traveled by not traveling them at all. I could go into the office occasionally if I wanted to, but the building is mostly empty; it doesn't have the "juice" of those chance hallway conversations that enrich our work by giving us a new idea or an insight into a different way of thinking about what we do.

Walking meetings are also still part of my work life. I select a meeting that doesn't require me to view a lot of slides on screen, although I can actually look at those on my phone if I need to. I put on that headset and head out the door. Within a few blocks I'm in the woods, listening with focused attention to the meeting content and resting my screen-worn eyes with the trees overhead, the water below the little footbridge, the offerings people leave at the Telephone of the Winds in memory of loved ones who have died.

Another way I make walking part of my work life while being kind to myself: Occasionally on a lunch break I put on a podcast and head for those woods. Listening to smart people interviewing interesting guests on a variety of topics yields some of those insights, those new ways of approaching a topic or a scenario that I might have gained from a hallway conversation. I listen to some that are quite obviously "about" work, in that they focus on transportation. Others that aren't transportation-focused stimulate my brain with new knowledge. I'm stepping away from that direct task focus and giving myself permission to let an idea or a question simmer a while before coming back to pin it down.

Photo looking up from below into two purple flowers with the blue sky behind them.

This time of stepping away is a critical part of brain work. Einstein is famously said to have come up with the Theory of Relativity while riding his bicycle.* The movement of my body through space and my brain coming along for the ride may not yield world-changing science, but it makes me feel better, think better, live better. I'm balanced between woods and work.

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.

— Albert Einstein

Photo of the base of a very large tree, with ribs stretching down to the earth and a coating of green moss on the lower trunk.

Related listening

Don't tell the hosts, but I don't listen to every episode of every podcast I'm subscribed to. This list is a sampling; over the years I've subscribed to others and the list is ever-evolving. What am I missing that you think is a must-listen, and why do you think that? What makes it a good companion for a walk?

99% Invisible
Code Switch
On Being
This Land
Arrested Mobility
TED Radio Hour
Talking Headways
Short Wave
Hidden Brain
The Midlife Feast
360 Degree City
The War on Cars
Invisibilia
Autonocast
The Mobility Podcast
Hurry Slowly
Hello Coffee My Old Friend
Transportation Radio
Redesigning Cities
Wanderful: Inspiration on the Go
Contra* from Critical Design Lab (stopped producing episodes in 2020 though)

*Snopes says there's no attribution for this Einstein statement about coming up with the Theory of Relativity while riding his bicycle. But the American Museum of Natural History included it in their Einstein exhibit so I'm going with them. Their description of how the insight ties to riding a bike makes sense to me: "No matter how fast Einstein rides his bike, the light coming from his headlight always moves at the same speed." Snopes says the statement about how life is like riding a bicycle is a paraphrase of something he wrote in a letter to his son Eduard dated Feb. 5, 1940.

Commitment, Bite-Sized and Tasty

This is the time of year for good intentions. Earnest intentions. Plans to be a newer, better YOU.

All of which is pretty bogus. You're already you. If you want to start something new to become a slightly different you, an evolving you, why wait until January 1?

On the other hand, the middle of winter may feel like a really bad time to try something new. In my part of the world the air feels cold, the sky looms grey overhead, somehow lower than in summer—or is that just the fog and mist?

I don't know about you, but I feel like starting new things in spring, when the days are getting longer and the air feels fresh, or in fall, when childhood memories of back to school shopping make me long for new pencils even though I don't like writing with pencils.

And why oh why are resolutions always about things that feel like work? What would be wrong with resolving to do something pleasant or restful or just plain fun on some regular schedule?

On top of that the resolutions so often are about going from zero to turbo overnight. Haven't been exercising? Commit to a daily run. Been meaning to start a journal? Get a new one with a format that will stare at you accusingly if you don't write every day.

Before my round number birthday this year I started a list of enjoyable things I could do to mark that number. Then I fell and broke my wrist, and most of the items on that list evaporated as possibilities in the short run.

Fortunately, at our house we laughingly refer to having a "birthdayweekmonth" celebration, because why stop at 24 hours?

This year I resolve to make it a BirthDayWeekMonthYear. Over the course of the year I'm going to pick some of the things from that list of enjoyable possibilities and try to get to that round number mark. That's all.

If I don't get around to taking XX long hot baths or tasting XX different kinds of chocolate in a year (or longer), I will still have had a lot of long soaks and delightful tastes. What if these pleasures become—gasp!—a habit?! What if through committing to enjoyment I settle into the idea that it's okay to do something enjoyable on a regular basis? That in fact I should schedule those into my days, weeks, and months just as I do trips to the dentist and those pesky preventive health exams?

Text in playful typeface that reads "Time for some joy snacks!"

I had already started writing this when I ran across a Washington Post article by Richard Sima about research on the value of "joy snacks". They contribute to one of the ways we find meaning in our lives. In addition to having a purpose in life, feeling like our lives matter and make sense, reporter Richard Sima writes, "... valuing one’s life experiences, or experiential appreciation, is another potent way of making life feel more meaningful."

Now, I did start keeping a daily journal a few years ago so I'm not incapable of forming habits. The power of writing things down and tracking works for me, probably thanks to those chore charts Mom used to put on the fridge with the gold stars. So another part of this commitment I'm making to myself is that I'm going to record these moments, these experiences, these joy snacks, these times when I do more of something that brings pleasure, less of something that doesn't. When I look back at a week, a month, a year, I'll remember those experiences. They'll form a part of who I am just like everything else that happens to me along the way.

My resolution: I'm going to fix myself a lot of tasty joy snacks this year. Care to join me for a snack? What's on your list?

Related Reading

Counting up the Years

The days are long and the years are short, someone advised me when I was a young mother. They were right; those years flew by! And not just the years of hands-on mothering—all of them seem to be accelerating. I'm hitting a round number this year and thinking about what I might do to mark it in some way.

Photograph of a white coffee cup with a teal upright bicycle on it and the words "Life is a beautiful ride", sitting on a wooden tabletop with sunlight falling on it from the front so its shadow stretches out behind it on the table. Photograph (c) Barb Chamberlain.

A fun idea that got some discussion in an online community I'm in: Whatever age you turn this year, take that number and think of things you can do up to that count. Not all things that involve spending money either—things that might involve time or attention or effort or friends and loved ones. These can become part of your celebration of your birthdayweekmonth (which is what we call it at our house). You might have to start before if you want to accomplish a certain total by that date but this isn't a competition.

I'll get the ball rolling with some of my ideas and some from my younger sister, who more than rose to the challenge when I asked for her ideas. Some of my ideas definitely draw on things I've picked up reading the book and then the ongoing newsletter The Art of Noticing, by Rob Walker.

If you're turning 60 this year, for example, you could write in your journal, draw or paint if that's your talent, or otherwise record:

60 people who matter to you or made a difference in your life
60 of your favorite things/things you appreciate or are grateful for (early mornings enjoying the view before the world gets moving, the color peacock blue, the foam on top of a latte, chevron wooden floors in old houses, old couples holding hands, a really good hair and outfit day, warm and fuzzy sox, smell of cut grass, home-cooked meal I didn't have to make or clean up after, hot coffee in the morning, Aaron Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man and Vivaldi's Four Seasons)
60 fabulous words (scrumptious, poppycock, kerfuffle, facetious, and of course fabulous itself)
60 places you'd like to go and/or have already been (map with pins—one color for "been there" and another for "going there")
60 things you like/enjoy about yourself/your life
60 holidays you invent with associated food, symbolism, and celebratory activities people would engage in on those special days
60 favorite moments (whether you've had them yet or not!)

Things you could do, whether it's a treat you give yourself, a hobby or challenge, or an extension of yourself for others:

Take 60 different walks/hikes/bike rides (going the opposite way around a loop counts)
Notice 60 different things over a week or two of your regular daily walk/bike ride
Find 60 treasures (rocks, driftwood, shells, beach glass, perfect pinecone, seed pods)
Find 60 instances of a particular "something" while on a walk, ride, or transit trip—like occurrences of the color yellow, traffic signs, blooming shrubs or trees, houses of a particular color or configuration
Leave 60 "somethings" for people to find—could be poems you write, rocks you paint, books in a Little Free Library, chalk messages on a path, dollar bills tucked into library books (or your own pockets!), arrangements of found objects, little game tokens (I keep finding glass game markers in Squaxin Park when I go for my walks and I've been leaving one of my painted rocks in the same locations to create a kind of silent dialogue with whoever's leaving those)
Try 60 new recipes or taste 60 new foods/dishes/sauces/seasonings
Pay 60 compliments
Laugh out loud 60 times in 60 days (cat videos count but can't be the dominant source)
Do 60 squats every day (not all in a row and not all strenuous/deep)
Start and end your day with 6 deep breaths while lying in bed—one for each decade
Give yourself a hashmark every time you straighten your posture or pull your head back so it isn't jutting far forward from your spine; work on reducing the # of days it takes to reach 60 (one idea is to to use doorways as a trigger; every time you go through one, think of entering the room standing or sitting a bit taller)
Go for a 60-minute walk, run, or bike ride (or miles instead of minutes, if that's what turns your cranks)
Get on the bus or light rail, ride 60 stops, get off and explore wherever that leaves you
Get 60 flowers and put them all around the house
Do 60 Sun Salutations (oof—haven't been practicing)
Read 60 books, poems, essays, or authors (over the course of some time frame—point is to make space for reading but I read more than this every year anyway)
Spend 60 minutes in a nice, hot bath (aw, do I have to get out after 60? Can I make a down payment on future birthdays?)
Sit out in the back yard or some other peaceful space where you won't be interrupted for at least 60 minutes listening to birds, relaxing, NOT thinking about the unfinished gardening chores
Get a 60-minute massage
Meditate for 60 minutes
Watch 60 waves come into an ocean shore
Hug someone for 60 seconds (most hugs last an average of 3 seconds so this will feel really long)
Learn 60 oddball facts about some topic or topics (did you know wombats produce square poop?)
Take 60 pictures of the same thing, trying to make it different each time whether that's through angles, lighting, or taking the pictures over a series of days
Knit, crochet, or quilt 60 squares to be made into blankets for people who need them

More ideas please! What would you do? Is it something you could do now or something you'll work up to? (Notice the absence of 60 push-ups on the list above....)

2019 Blogging in Review

January: I got the year rolling with a post listing various bike challenges, not all of which I intended to try to complete. Speaking of challenges, compiling a list of everything I read in 2018 was a self-imposed challenge in an effort to give a shout-out to authors who enrich my life with their talents.

February: I decided to make it a lot easier to spotlight authors by compiling my list of books read in smaller chunks, hence the list of books I read in January.

March: I wrote quite a bit more in March. What I read in February, some musings on how differently we would interact on our streets and roads if we all moved the way we do in grocery stores, a round-up of some of my transportation reading (meaning articles, not books), a piece on why someone who owns a bike would use bikeshare, an introduction to my new e-bike Zelda!, and on the last day of the month the list of what I read in March.

April: My blogging energy continued into the cruelest month, sparked by the biking energy that goes with tackling the #30DaysOfBiking challenge. For a while there I thought I might actually do another run of 30 Days of Blogging to go with the biking, so I pushed out a lot of posts:

I even dropped in another round-up of transportation articles along the way.

May: Then life returned to normal and my blogging pace dropped. I posted the list of my April reading.

June: Another quiet month with only my list of May books.

July: You guessed it -- June reading list.

August: I should have blogged every single day of my wonderful trip to Copenhagen and London. I didn't. Too busy living the actual life to record it, and that's not an apology.

September: Caught up on the reading list with a July-August round-up, then posted on the innumerable thankless chores of digital housework.

October: Another "too busy to write" month.

November: Two-month list of September-October books read.

December: Something about the end of the year gets me writing again. I had a really wonderful experience with a great version of #BikeSchool, a Twitter chat I lead every so often, this time with guest hosts and the added tags #MoveEquity #WheelsMoveMe to invite in new participants. I belatedly reported on successful completion of the 2019 #coffeeneuring challenge as a series of bike dates with my sweetheart, discussed how my approach to holidays has evolved (and gotten much simpler and easier), and reviewed my year of bike challenge participation. I wrapped it up with a confession about nonfiction books I've started and haven't yet finished to create a bit of public accountability.

And that brings us to 2020. Such a nice, symmetrical number, that. Here's hoping that I round out this new year with enough reading, riding and writing to make me happy. I need high doses of each of these.

How to End One Year and Begin Another

If our calendars made sense the new year would start the day after the December solstice. We make it through the shortest day and longest night (for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere). We begin to turn toward the light, toward warmth, toward growth.

Or maybe instead of immediately writing a new date we would have a set of "un-days". Days that appear on no one's calendar (except those that bring you wages or benefits). Days with no work, no expectations. Time dedicated to wrapping things up, taking stock, making everything clean and organized or catching up on sleep. Whatever it takes to feel refreshed and recharged, ready to begin again.

We don't have that. Instead we have a hurly-burly of various traditions that mark the turn toward the light but in so doing create expectations and pressure.

Buy this, cook that. Wrap this, decorate that. Don't clean to create a fresh, calming space -- clean so that people can be impressed by your housekeeping and then mess it all up so you have it to do all over again.

That's what I grew up with. My mom created a beautiful Christmas every year with delicious food, she selected and wrapped gifts with care, she made dozens of cookies of various types to create those magazine-ready plates, she decorated the whole house and everything smelled good. She also didn't work full-time outside the home.

We're done with that model and it feels pretty damn good.

It helps not to have small children who are subjected to social pressure that creates expectations that fall on parents. We have grown kids who profess delight with the cash and gift cards and whatever we feel like cooking.

This year it isn't exactly a "help" that I ended up really sick with a respiratory flu the week before a planned two-week vacation. The days that had few meetings, that I would have spent writing and analyzing and dealing with the email backlog in peace and quiet, turned into days lying on the sofa with generic cough/flu syrup, a water bottle, my Kindle, and some pillows to soften my fall into the sleep that kept dragging me downward to the horizontal.

Oh well. It is what it is.

That's the key to my winter holiday plan: It is what it is.

Examples of what this looks like as I do the things I enjoy, maintain continuity with my memories in ways that work for who I am today, and keep it manageable:

No Christmas tree.

Instead, Second Daughter and I spent a very pleasant day (on a weekend before the flu hit) going through the ornaments. I had accumulated a bunch I didn't really care about, and had some I got to give each of the kids a start on their own collection. We sorted these out and made a box for Youngest who wants to build up her collection.

I used the ones I like to decorate windowsills and hung them from lamps. We have a cheerfully decorated living space that will be easy to clean up and I emptied one of the storage boxes from the garage as part of my ongoing downsizing.

No giant spread of forty-'leven kinds of cookies.

I experimented a week or so ago with a vegan shortcake. Pro tip: don't substitute ground almonds for part of the flour or you'll have a gooey something that tastes good but isn't shortcake. Next time I may try this cardamom snickerdoodle recipe instead.

While Second Daughter was there for the weekend I made a batch of cinnamon stars from the 1963 Betty Crocker Cookbook I grew up with because they sounded interesting and were pretty easy. I also made (with her help) the one cookie I'll make every year due to popular demand, the candy cane cookies topped with crushed peppermints/sugar from that same cookbook. Talking about this cookbook on Twitter led to a fun exchange.

My grown kids always request candy cane cookies, from this 1963 Betty Crocker cookbook. Fair amount of hand work for relatively few cookies but they're delicious. Making them this coming weekend. pic.twitter.com/8OeOFKSSsk
— Barb Chamberlain (@BarbChamberlain) December 8, 2019

It was my mom's and I baked out of it as a kid. I will own it until I die and will it to my children.
— Barb Chamberlain (@BarbChamberlain) December 8, 2019

In years past I've made spritz with my mom's old cookie press; frosted cookies that took forever and honestly were more interesting to look at than to eat and thus not worth the effort; snickerdoodles with green and red sprinkles because snickerdoodles are The Cookie for me as long as they're bendy in the middle; and various other treats.

Cooking what I feel like eating, spread over a few days instead of in one massive blowout that encourages overeating.

The flu is passing and cooking is one of my favorite things to do when I have a whole day and no time pressure. Yesterday I made a batch of Sarah Gailey's lasagna (did you know "lasagna" is the singular and "lasagne" is the plural?).

Today we made a grocery run to get ingredients for things I feel like cooking and eating over the next few days while Second Daughter hangs out for some cuddle time and Mom cooking. These recipes let me make maximum use of oven heat and will yield some leftovers I can freeze for future lunches. The list is likely to include:

Portabello mushrooms stuffed with something along the lines of quinoa, sweet bell peppers, and pine nuts, topped with vegan romesco or muhamarra (it's a toss-up -- love them both)
Roasted butternut squash with really good 25-year-old balsamic vinegar (the kind that pours like rich syrup, from The Oilerie in Burien where we did some tasting on one of our coffeeneuring dates as part of my birthday celebrating that stretched over a few weeks) and some chili garlic oil my younger sister gave me on one of our sisters' weekends, with the option of regular feta or a vegan feta I found in a nicely expanded vegan section at Fred Meyer
Roasted broccoli because I love it
Champagne mashed potatoes, another Sarah Gailey recipe she shared in a series of tweets starting with this one
Waldorf salad with a vegan cashew cream dressing (the one from the recipe below) or the yogurt-based dressing from this vegan Waldorf salad recipe
Vegan broccoli/red grape salad with dressing options: Thai peanut or a balsamic vinaigrette because I have those on hand. To this recipe I always add shredded red cabbage, grated carrots, and some diced sweet bell peppers in various colors. It's beautiful and tasty.
Southern lemon pie with a saltine cracker crust that I'm going to try converting to vegan. I link to the NPR story with the recipe because that's what got me started making this. I found a recipe for vegan sweetened condensed (coconut) milk and picked up some vegan spread to use in the crust in place of butter.
Vegan cream of mushroom soup. Super simple and so delicious. Last time I made this I had some cauliflower I needed to use up. I boiled that and a few potatoes, pureed them in the food processor with some homemade veggie broth, and made that part of the creamy base for the soup. It was fantastic. I add celery to this recipe.
Decidedly unvegan cornbread from an old New York Times Magazine recipe that involves pouring whipping cream into the middle to create a custardy center, baked in a heated cast iron pan for a crispy crust.
Vegan nog, which takes all of about 5 minutes because I have nut milk and coconut milk on hand and make cashew cream ahead and keep it in the freezer

This sounds like a lot. But my mom would have done something like this list plus a turkey, gravy, three more kinds of pie, glazed carrots, peas and mushrooms in a wine sauce, and rolls, all for one day in which she also trotted out at least half a dozen homemade hors d'oeuvres platters and the forty-leven cookie varieties.

I'm doing my cooking spread out over at least two days, maybe three. And this list is only one in my head, not something to which I've committed that a dozen or more people will show up to eat at a specific date and time.

No gift shopping on a timeline. Don't get me wrong; I love giving gifts. I like giving them at times people aren't expecting them as a "just because".

I don't ignore the gift-giving element at this time of year; I'm enough of a product of my upbringing that it would feel pretty cold not to give a gift now. But it's sure easier when I don't have to fight people at the mall.

I gave Eldest Daughter and her beau a movie gift card early so they could use it for the Star Wars opening and they now have half a dozen or so movie dates to look forward to. (She also got dental work paid for, which is a little challenging to wrap....) Second Daughter is going to get a shopping expedition to prepare her for some international travel with things she needs (or things I think she needs, like mosquito netting and a rechargeable flashlight -- shhh, don't tell her). Engineering Student Son gets a gift certificate for the online gaming platform he frequents. Youngest Daughter -- yep, another gift certificate.

Seriously, I remember the year my mom finally gave up trying to guess at my personal style and instead just sent me downtown with her credit cards as one of the best Christmases ever so this is not a copout, this is responsive parenting.

As for Sweet Hubs, the other thing I did to make the end of the old year and the beginning of the new year pretty perfect was to book a getaway to the hotel where we spent our honeymoon. We'll celebrate our date-a-versary there: the 14th anniversary of our first date, which happens to fall on my parents' wedding anniversary. We'll have a fireplace, a spa tub, a view of the ocean, and no expectations other than being together.

That's how to end the old year and start the new year. Relaxed, happy, content, in love. It is what it is.

More or Less

It's that time of year.

You know, the time of year when we pretend that an arbitrary mark on a human creation for tracking the movements of the earth on its axis and around the sun means we can become a different person.

A whole new you. Shinier. Better. Healthier. Calmer. SOMEthing-er.

As a teen I made lists of the many ways in which I was going to upgrade myself to some impossible external standard really only achievable via airbrushing and lies.

Not that I think there's anything wrong with setting goals or trying to change or improve. But "Live Your Best Life" is a pretty high bar. Exhausting, really. Some days it's a win if it I lived My Pretty Darn Good Life, or even My Reasonably Acceptable Life Given that It's Only Tuesday.

And I'm one of the very fortunate ones. I have someone to love who loves me back, children who bring me joy and some -- ahem -- insights into my tendencies, a job I enjoy that I'm good at and in which I make a difference, a solid home, easy access to healthy food, clean water to drink and hot water in which to bathe, transportation choices, an extended family and friends who can give help if I need it -- on and on. So much goodness. So many things that make my life easier rather than harder.

Mock road signs on a pole. top sign: White background, arrow pointing right, word MORE in black. Bottom sign: Orange background, arrow pointing left, word LESS in black. Blue sky with puffy clouds in background.

I'm not going to make resolutions with a capital R. As Betsy says (I quote Betsy pretty often), if you think of something you want to change you could just do it now, not wait for January 1 as if that date has some kind of magical quality.

I am going to make some lists of More/Less.

More forgiving. Less absolute.
More realistic. Less all-or-nothing.
More pragmatic. Less puritanical.

Like this:

MORE LESS
Salad Sugar
Moving Sitting
Mindfulness Impulse
Kindness Judging
Sleep Late-night reading

This is a start and doesn't include every idea I had in thinking about this structure. What would you put on your version of this list?

Related reading

Frittering Away My Mental Energies, Thanks—How About You?

I wrote a lengthy and boring piece quite a while ago about the ramblings and byways I get sucked into working on the computer. That still happens.

It happens even more now that I’ve started a second blog with a bike focus and am seeking to build its traffic. I’ve been pouring energies into promotional efforts for the new blog that result in a lot of Web time that doesn’t ever seem to end.

How could it end? The Web doesn’t--and now I carry it around in the palm of my hand so I don't even have to sit down to click.

There’s always one more blog post I could read and comment on, one more Twitter account I could follow and interact with, one more Facebook page I could give a thumbs-up to and then tag in an update, another question I can answer on Quora to establish my expertise and credentials.

Then I read this piece by Suze Muse, whom I follow on Twitter: Are you using time or wasting it? The answer to that is yes.

By which I mean some of that online time is well-spent—some of it is wasted.

I've found myself thinking of this piece several times since reading it, telling people about it, and applying the principles she outlines (so you need to go read it).

In particular, the social media tab dance (round and round and round between Facebook, Twitter, Google+, LinkedIn, Quora, and other “important spaces”) sucks time like a black hole sucks gravity.

I can always "justify" it as professional development, engagement with friends, and promotion of my blog.

Or, as Suze suggests, I can give myself a certain number of minutes in pursuit of those particular outcomes, then close the tabs and go do something else with purpose.

Powerful stuff.

I just read this older piece by Conversation Agent (another thinker I wouldn’t know if it weren’t for that Twitter time) with some complementary thoughts about cutting down on distractions in order to focus on the destination.

This same theme abounds in blog posts around the globe. You’d think with the number of times I read it and say, “Yes! I agree!” that by now I would have achieved the calm focus of a Zen master. Heh.

One of the things that helps my mental discipline--when I make time for it!--is a regular yoga practice. That serves as moving meditation and makes me much more mindful of all kinds of choices, from how I spend my time to what foods I consume. But I don't have (make!) time for it right now.

Biking, which I do daily for transportation, gives me another tech-free space in which to change up my mental habits and it’s easier to work that into my schedule than a class that has to happen at a specific time.

I also love to cook. Last year I created a lot of non-tech time by preserving up a storm: canning, freezing, drying, making jams and jellies.

This year the new blog launch, putting on Bike Style Spokane shopping events, and other commitments ate up the time I could have put into putting up food and I haven’t been cooking as often (good thing Sweet Hubs loves my Crockpot soups). One priority crowds out another.

So much of our time is spent in technology spaces. Time away from the screen, using our bodies and our hands, can make our mental work better, fresher, and more enjoyable. But none of these really change my habits.

What do you do to stay focused on priorities? (If you manage to pull this off, that is.)

Good Advice: Take It a Little Easier on Yourself, Sicko

Why I have time to write this post:

I ran across LetsBlogOff today thanks to Twitter.

I saw it because I had time to scroll through tweets and click links that caught my eye just because—not links that contribute to my professional knowledge or have something to do with one of my civic volunteer hats.

I had time to scroll through tweets because I went home sick instead of staying at work and powering through, which used to be my norm. “It just has to get done today. I should get it done.” (As I’ve written before, don’t should on yourself. Say that quickly and you’ll get the real meaning.)

I came home because I’ve given myself permission to be human. Being human means having limitations. Not only having them, but recognizing and respecting them.

Once upon a time I almost never got sick. I’m a pretty fanatical handwasher and user-of-paper-towel-to-open-rest-room-door, which helps. I’m also lucky in that I got a pretty good draw in genetic poker; my dad is 93, my mom is 89, and three of my four grandparents lived well into their 80s and 90s.

But in the last few years I’ve gotten knocked down—hard—about twice a year by some kind of bug. I get my flu shots faithfully and do think they help, as I often stay well when everyone else is tanking.

However, I am (ahem) getting an eensy-teensy bit older, as I have been known to lament. I stretch myself really thin between work, volunteering, and family, and sometimes don't have quite enough butter to cover the toast, if you know what I mean. I don't have time to go to yoga, which would help make me more mindful about my choices and priorities if I did. I'm setting myself up.

I finally caught on to a simple truth: Powering through does not make me get well faster. Quite the opposite, in fact—I drag out my recovery because I never really give it a chance.

In the bike world they say slow is smooth and smooth is fast. My sickness corollary would be that being sick (acknowledging it, really) is getting well.

Thanks to@Urbanverse for the RT of this post, Extraordinary Singleness of Purpose, which led me to the Let’s Blog Off world. This is my own advice to myself, not advice from someone else, but I think it fits the theme. And I have plenty more advice--see below.

The best advice I ever received, which was really supposed to be the point of this post, has to be 3 Things My Mother Taught Me.

Your Turn

What’s the best advice anyone ever gave you? Or advice you recall and use regularly, even if it’s along the lines of “remember to set the liquid measuring cup on the counter instead of holding at eye level to get an accurate measurement” (thanks, Mom and Mrs. Eldridge who taught the 4-H cooking classes in Lewiston, Idaho).

Possibly Related Reading

Other Participating Blogs You Should Check Out

A Life Manifesto. Or, as Oprah Would Say,
Live Your Best Life

For me the word manifesto has distinct political connotations. Wikipedia backs me up on this. Seeing it these days attached to “life” as in “life manifesto” has felt a bit funny, even for someone like me with a long history of political awareness and engagement. Am I supposed to nail my 95 political beliefs to the door somewhere? (Confirmed as a Lutheran in high school—can you tell? It didn’t stick though.)

But then hey, it’s the new year. Time for a fresh start and all that. Resolutions? Nah. Too trite, too frangible, too much effort followed by guilt. Manifesto? Hmmm.

Mousing around yesterday I encountered Gwen Bell’s piece on preparing your life manifesto. A lot of these pieces have you creating visions of the future life you want to lead, very specific goals (which have to have deadlines to count as goals), or the life list/bucket list of things to do before you die (the ultimate to-do list with the Grim Reaper running the timer).

Her article is no exception. It does have fun options from the artsy-craftsy magazine collage approach (Eldest Daughter is all over this one) to the techno-enabled Lululemon Goaltending free worksheet for goal-setting.

These all have a fatal flaw for me (plus Eldest Daughter has all the good magazines at her new apartment). They seem to be about doing rather than being. We are human beings, not human doings.

Rather than the to-do list approach I think it’s more useful to have a to-be list.

As in, what kind of person do I want to be? Then I will just be that person in whatever “doing” circumstances life happens to hand me or I develop myself (which, as I’ve pointed out here and here, I have a tendency to overdo).

Another way of describing this list is as a set of values.

My career and life pathways may explain my preference for this kind of manifesto. Setting out without any specific career goals beyond “I’d like to work in publishing” and “I think politics and public service matter” with my two bachelor’s degrees from Washington State University under my belt took me to some amazing and wonderful places: VP of a (really really) small publishing company, the Idaho state legislature, short-time history teacher and later chairman of the board at North Idaho College, grad student, and my current role of nearly 13 years heading up communications at WSU Spokane, where we’re building the health sciences/medical campus of the future despite the rocky economy.

I usually describe my career path as serendipitous. Then I go on to say that serendipity is what happens to people who are paying attention. The readiness is all, as Hamlet noted, whether your personal sparrow is falling today or next year.

If I had started out with a really specific career goal and focused only on that I might have missed some wonderful opportunities. Being open to the possibilities and saying yes when it scared me a bit has had tremendous value.

The key linkage between things I’ve loved doing—serving in public office, teaching, communicating, drumming up support for bike commuting and active transportation—is that all of them require that I master a body of specialized knowledge and information and communicate about that content persuasively to other people in an effort to convince them to support a specific action or direction. That’s me. So I’ve got the “doing” part of Barb Chamberlain pretty well nailed.

The upbringing I received from my parents is worth a post of its own. That and all I’ve learned from all this doing have shaped my to-be/values list. The kind of person I want to be—and on my best days am—will (for starters):

Pay attention and give time to the people I love. Every day.
Understand the impact of my actions and purchases on the environment and choose to live lightly.
Care about the living conditions, earning power and families of the people who make things I purchase and choose not to exploit people who aren’t lucky enough to live where I do.
Think about the well-being of my community and the ones around us and invest my time in organizations and efforts that make this a better place to live.
Treat every person with the dignity and respect we should accord each human being and create meaning in relationships.
Be kind.
Add value.
Breathe.

Or, as someone much wiser than I explained it, I will strive to live with right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration (the Buddhist Eightfold Path, for those who may not recognize it).

Note that you can’t cross these off and be done with them. A to-be list is much, much more challenging than a to-do list.

Your turn

What am I missing? What kind of person do you want to be, and how will that shape your doing?

It’s All in the Attitude
Biking as Downtime and Other Musings on Overproductivity
Overdoing: The Seven-Course Meal Approach to Life (written, oddly enough, Jan. 1, 2009--so I do have annual rituals of self-examination)
Thanks for Asking: Unsolicited Advice on How to Live
Not a Bucket List, Not Resolutions, Not Really
Green Is the Color of Money: Growing a Sustainable Local Business Approach
The SISO Method for Life Management
Don't Buy That Case of Stuff on Sale. I'm Serious.
Yet Another 11 Little Secrets
Stuff I Didn't Do Today, Or, I Know What Happiness Tastes Like
3 Things My Mother Taught Me

Thanks for Asking: Unsolicited Advice on How to Live

The other day Second Daughter asked me what I'd be thinking about on my deathbed: more about myself, perhaps reflecting back on my life, or more about others, telling them things I meant to tell them before.

Cheerio, happy talk!

I thought a bit, threw in a few criteria for variables (am I alone or do I have visitors? Going fast or going slowly?), and decided I'd probably be sharing things I meant to tell them sooner, maybe some things I'd learned because I want to spare them my hard lessons.

"Won't you be telling us those things all along?" she asked. (I'm sure it feels as if I offer up enough advice on a daily basis.)

"Well, yes, but you learn things all the time and I'll be reflecting back with the perspective of more years than I have now." (Knock on wood.)

As if having two daughters didn't tax my unsolicited-advice-giving reflexes enough, I blog on the topic every so often.

To save them time when I'm gone and they wish they'd paid more attention to my wisdom while I was alive (hint hint), here's a round-up of past posts on Life and Important Stuff:

Postscript: Eldest Daughter wandered in while I was working on this post. She mentioned something about life or dying and I said I was writing a blog post about that.

"You're writing a blog post in preparation for your death? How morbid!"

The conversation took other turns, but then she looked over my shoulder as I uploaded the graphic. "You ARE writing a blog post about your death! Shouldn't you be updating your will instead?"

Me: "Well, that isn't self-interest talking."

Her: "What? I can't wear your shoes, we have different taste in furniture, I don't like your curtains, I don't want your money--what are you going to leave me?"

She glanced around the room, clearly looking for something worth having in memoriam, and spotted the bookcase. "Candles! And CDs." (She already has most of my book collection in her room.)

Macbeth, Act V, Scene V:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

to the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fool

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

Or Macbeth, Act III, Scene IV:

Stand not upon the order of your going,

But go at once.

Subscribe to: Posts ( Atom )

Pages